


Mad World

by jacktheminatureslayer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Drug Abuse, M/M, Multiple Pov, Quite a bit of angst, Some mentions of domestic violence, They build a snowman at one point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacktheminatureslayer/pseuds/jacktheminatureslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis was eight when the dreams started.</p>
<p>Superhero AU-A world where Louis can only watch, Harry often drowns, Niall protects himself, and Liam can't forgive. It's messy, but they need each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

Louis is eight when the dreams start.

He closes his eyes and hears laughter. Two children are tickling each other, but his mind focuses on a boy with very short brown hair, eyes closed in his laughter, pink lips curved upwards into dimpled cheeks. When the boy finally opens his eyes and tackles the girl in retaliation, Louis wakes up.

He tells his mother about the boy with green eyes, but she just smiles and ruffles his own brown hair. “Love, it’s just a dream,” she coos, rubbing her full belly. Another sibling is coming. Louis’s heard talk of twins.

***

When Louis turns twelve, he falls asleep watching the snow outside his window, thinking of Christmas.

The boy with green eyes is asleep this time, nestled next to a tree with lights. An older woman smiles fondly at him while placing presents around his head, trying not to wake him. The dream shifts suddenly and Louis sees a different boy. This one has blue eyes and streaked blonde hair. He’s laughing amongst adults, all drinking the same buttery-brown and bubbly kind of drink while watching the very young lad sing, dance, and tell stories.

Louis tells his mother of this new boy, different from the one he’s used to dreaming about. She responds by pinching his cheek and making him tea. He later hears her talking to his new father about how creative Louis is, making his own world of friends.

***

After a fight with his mother when he turns fourteen, Louis storms out of the house and falls asleep at his friend’s house. This time Louis sees a crying unfamiliar looking boy hunched over a strangely motionless dog. The boy is alone, big shoulders shaking with his silent tears. Louis feels instant sorrow and urges himself in his dream to touch him, but he can’t. He can only watch.

“Liam,” an older man calls in the dream. The boy sits up quickly and wipes the tears--worry and panic set on his face, his brown eyes bulging in his sockets. The man’s shadow looms over the boy before the man’s hand rubs Liam’s back.

“It’s not your fault,” the voice tells the boy.

Louis doesn’t tell his mother about this new boy.

***

The boy with green eyes is doodling in his notebook, tongue sticking out of his mouth in his concentration. Louis watches, always longing to join his dream friends, especially this boy. He’s always smiling. The boy is wearing headphones, but Louis can hear the faint hum of his music. It’s never anything familiar to Louis.

When the dream shifts, Louis is ready this time. He knows the familiar feeling of the tug at his stomach as a warning. The boy with blonde hair and blue eyes is messing with a guitar. There are always people around him, this dream being no exception. His Irish accent all but diminishes completely when he sings to the group. They all smile at him and Louis wants to congratulate him. He was working on that song the last time Louis saw him.

His stomach tugs a third time and Louis sees the only dream friend whose name he knows. Liam is sitting alone in a crowded lunch room. He’s glaring across the room with an apple in his hand. Suddenly the apple explodes in Liam’s grasp as the boy stands up and races away. Louis’s mind follows him to the other side of the room where a group of people are laughing at some chaotic movements where they’re crowded.

A boy with ink black hair is hovering under a textbook. Insults and the occasional jab are being thrown at him until Liam gets there. He pulls the boy away without a second thought and the two leave the cafeteria together. Louis wants to follow them, but a voice pulls him out of his dream.

“Louis Tomlinson! Am I boring you?!” Mr. Norton yells.

Louis sits up in his desk and wipes the drool from his chin. He sees his fellow students looking on him with a mix of irritation, amusement, and anticipation. He places a smirk on his face and sets to entertain them. “Of course not, Norty. I’m absolutely riveted,” he says with a drawl to his flabbergasted instructor.

He’s ordered out of the classroom, but Louis couldn’t care less. He often wishes to stay in his dreams, talk to three boys in his mind. As he walks the hallways, he catches the eye of a beautiful girl. She giggles and blushes before ducking back into her locker. After a brief hesitation, Louis walks to her, his dream friends forgotten.

***

Louis is sixteen when he figures out that he’s different.

He realizes that it’s not normal to dream about other people like Louis does. His girlfriend’s dreams center around her own life or sometimes about a life she wishes to have. The idea startles Louis when she first talks about a “strange dream” she had and he becomes even more confused when she talks about nightmares. His dreams never frighten him.

Until they do.

Liam is with a girl in a room that Louis recognizes to be his bedroom. They’re passionately kissing and Louis feels embarrassed watching his friend in this position. He tries to get out, wills his stomach to tug to the boy with green eyes. He’s stuck watching, unable to do anything else, too deep into sleep to pull himself out.

The girl’s hand moves from Liam’s stomach downwards underneath his trousers. Liam gasps and moves more underneath her touch when crack!. Louis is confused when Liam’s girl stops her frantic movements and falls limp back on the bed, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Liam seems to be just as confused because he calls down to her and pushes at her shoulders. She moves like a doll under his touch and Louis watches as Liam’s face twists in horror. He crawls off the bed and stares at his hands. He’s shaking.

Louis wants the girl to get up again. He’d be upset if Hannah pulled that kind of joke on him. He attempts to scream at her, knowing he can’t move closer to the scene. He can only ever watch. He’s tired of watching.

The girl doesn’t move when Liam gets up from the ground and calls for his father in a shaky voice. The girl still doesn’t move when the older man rushes in and the two wordlessly stare at her. Liam’s father is the one to move forward and close the girl’s eyes. Louis watches him turn to his son and embrace him. His stomach twists, but not in the familiar pull. Louis wakes up and vomits on himself.

He doesn’t dream of Liam again.

***

Louis is a little more than sixteen when he decides to rebel against his own mind.

He does anything and everything to keep himself from sleep. It’s hard staying awake when both his mind and body fight for him to give in and sleep. His eyes ache and itch all the time. His legs and arms feel weak and sore. His brain throbs with an unfamiliar yearning.

Despite this, everyone around him seem happier now. His instructors are relieved that he’s stops sleeping during lectures, his girlfriend is ecstatic with the extra attention, his sisters squirm and squeal with new play time ideas, and his stepfather does not mind a new set of hands to help around the house.

His mother is different. She worries.

Louis knows why. She caught him at his most vulnerable place. He fell asleep that night and dreamed.

The irish lad was alone for the first time that Louis’s seen him. He’s still messing with a guitar, but not playing anything in particular. His blue eyes have a far away look to them and he’s staring at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Louis feels guilty for avoiding his dream friend. He wants to sit next to him and urge him to play a new song, probably something he’s learned while Louis stayed away.

“NIALL!” a voice yells and both Louis and the boy jump at it.

His blue eyes widen in fear and he clutches his guitar closer to his body as a big man stumbles into the room. “Greg, you’re back,” Niall squeaks as the man stares down at him.

“Didn’t Mum say I was coming tonight?” Greg slurs.

Louis feels something wrong. It’s the same wrong as the dream with Liam. Greg moves for Niall, but the boy scrambles away for his door. Greg catches him in time to throw him at the wall and Louis watches in shock as the side of Niall’s head slams against it.

He can only ever watch.

Greg’s fist pulls up in the air when it happens. Niall’s hands fly to protect his face, palms facing away, when the air thickens. The man’s fist is thrown back against the wall behind him, sticking him to the wall with five metal strings digging into the wrist.

Niall’s guitar is shattered against the floor and Greg screams out in pain as he tries to move away from the wall. The air thins when Niall’s hand falls. He gets up from his position on the floor and stares at Greg’s wrist. He faints and Louis wakes up crying.

His brain is throbbing, willing him to go back to sleep, but Louis can’t. He’s scared. With a quick glance at the time he runs downstairs and nearly crashes into his mother in the kitchen.

“Louis?” she asks. “Where are you going?” she adds when she sees his hand resting on the front door.

“Please,” Louis begs.

She nods her head and Louis leaves the house, cold air cutting into his skin.

He doesn’t dream of Niall again.

***

Louis is barely seventeen when he gets into drugs.

If he takes enough sleeping pills, he sleeps without the dreams. He doesn’t want to see the teenage boy with green eyes get hurt like his other friends, but every time he gives into his exhaustion to sleep, he sees him. The boy is still happy. Still listens to those strange songs. Still gets in tickle fights with his sister. Still sleeps cuddled into himself like a kitten. Still closer to getting hurt like the other boys.

The first time Louis takes the pills, it’s on a whim. He was at the grocery store with his mum when they stopped at the drug section for pain relief for Mark’s back. Louis’s eyes spot the shelves full of sleeping aids and he grabs a few, stuffing them nonchalantly in their shopping trolley while Mum read the back of a box. He takes a little more than prescribed that night and stares at the ceiling in his bed until his mind goes blank.

He wakes up in the middle of his backyard, covered in mud, feet throbbing in pain. Louis is only mildly aware that he doesn’t know how he got there, his mind still fuzzy and aching with need. A need to dream.

The second time he sleeps with the pills he wakes up naked in his friend’s empty bathtub. Stan supplies him with clothes after Louis begs him not to ask questions. When he returns home, his mum is waiting on the stairs, face wet with tears.

“You left again,” she states.

Louis begs her not to ask with a, “Please.”

She nods and he retreats to his bedroom to get ready for school.

***

Louis is eighteen when the throbbing in his head becomes too much to bare in silence.

The dull ache is searing against his skull and his fingers try to rip away at the pain when it happens. The second Louis closes his tear filled eyes, he feels a tug at his stomach and a falling sensation. His eyes fling open when his chest makes impact on a cold, hard ground. He’s not in his bathroom, but in the yard of a faintly familiar house. Also, he’s naked and shivering at the winter air.

An elderly woman across the street screams when she sees him, but rushes over to help. She takes him in her house giving him clothes and food while washing at the blood off his hands and head where Louis dug at his scalp. Louis is grateful. Even more so when she doesn’t ask questions, just mutters worriedly over his bloodshot eyes and thin body.

“You look just like my grandchild,” she tells him after his third cuppa.

Louis nods and attempts a smile at her. She rolls her eyes at it. “He’s away in America now. Got a publishing job at some fancy place, but he was a wild one like you. Same troubled look in his eyes.”

After more stories of her grandchild, Louis asks to borrow her phone and calls Hannah. He doesn’t want to trouble his mother with this. “Louis? Where are you? You’ve missed Fizzy’s ballet recital.”

“Hannah you have to pick me up. I’m sorry, I can’t really explain it, but I’m not home right now,” Louis says.

Hannah groans, but asks, “Where are you then?”

Where is he? Louis asks the woman and she supplies him with an address that he repeats to Hannah.

“Cheshire? Louis, that’s two hours away!” Hannah exclaims.

Louis blinks his surprise. Two hours? One second he was in his bathroom and the next he was here. Maybe the pills haven’t worn off from when he woke up in his neighbor’s pool this morning. “Please,” Louis begs.

Hannah agrees and he hands the woman her phone with an apology. “She’ll be a little while, I’m so sorry.”

“Didn’t know where you were, then?” she replies, but doesn’t push for answers when she waves him to her front yard. “Help me shovel this snow and we’ll be even.”

It takes Louis an hour to shovel the pavement while Sarah, the elderly woman, chats next to him. She somehow convinces him to build a snowman (“Put all this damned snow to use”) and Hannah pulls up when he places a few large buttons for the snowman’s eyes and mouth.

“Louis oh my god, are you okay?” she cries and throws herself into his arms.

Sarah watches with amusement and winks at him. “Louis’s your name then? Not much of a talker your boyfriend is,” she teases him to Hannah.

Hannah huffs a small laugh. “That doesn’t sound like Louis, but thank you for your help miss.”

“Sarah,” Louis clarifies.

“SARAH!” a low voice calls from across the street. A boy bundled in coats and scarves runs across the street to the three of them. Ringlets of curly hair poke out of his hat and he hugs Sarah before revealing a carrot to her. “Saw you building a friend so thought I’d help out,” he announces.

She beams at him and pinches his cheeks. “You always know when to help,” she coos before introducing him. “Harry, this is Louis and Hannah. Louis and Hannah, this is Harry.”

Harry beams at them and Louis’s stomach drops. Green eyes. Dimples. Everything about that face was Louis’s green eyed dream boy. Well, the hair is different, but it’s been a while. The pounding in Louis’s head stops and Louis could cry from happiness, irritation, anger, and everything in between.

“Good to meet you!” Harry says, still beaming.

Hannah responds quickly. “You too. Good luck with...that,” she adds pointing to the snowman and grabbing Louis’s arm. “We’ve got to get going. Thank you again, Sarah.”

Louis stares as Harry shoves the carrot into the snowman and laughs with Sarah while Hannah pushes him into the vehicle. The pounding returns once they leave, the familiar throbbing is welcomed by Louis as he tries to reason with himself.

Louis is eighteen when he figures out that he must be mad.

 

* * *

 

Harry laughs while Sarah tries to slap his arm. “Don’t you even think about it, Styles!” she yells at him fondly. He’s too quick for her and grabs the freshly cooked biscuit.

He smiles and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. You’re too much of a charmer for me to get mad at you,” she sighs and plates the biscuits for Harry to take home to his mum.

“How’s Gemma?” she asks.

“Has to stick around uni with that new internship. We missed her at Christmas and New Year’s,” Harry answers her question, sticking the biscuit in his mouth and frowning at the crumbs left on his gloves.

Sarah nods and sips at her cuppa. They’ve always been good friends while Harry grew up. She was there for the family when his father walked off and Mum had to scramble to get their lives stable without his support. She always says that he reminds her of her grandchild in America. Something about the look in his eyes.

“I found Louis naked in your front yard,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

Harry chokes on his biscuit. The boy with startling blue eyes, naturally tan body, and soft looking brown hair was naked in his yard?! Sarah watches him cough in amusement. “So...you did think he was fit. Was wondering…” she muses, sighing as she motions for Harry to join her in her front room.

“Oh god, Sarah, not this again,” Harry whines and cuddles up on her floral sofa. Her house is just like any other elderly woman’s house--covered in flowers, trinkets, photographs, and smells of strange perfumes. Sarah, however, is not like any other elderly woman. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I like every fit bloke that pops into my yard.”

“Yes, but he popped into your yard naked.” She laughs and joins him on the sofa.

Harry blushes. “What was he doing there then?” he asks, utterly humiliated.

“Don’t know.”

“What? You two were building a snowman together.”

“Hmm yes, nice lad.”

“How do you not know?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t want me to.”

Harry huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “God, you are the worst!”

They sit in silence for a few moments before Sarah says, “I think he’s gifted.”

Oh.

“He doesn’t understand it though. He looked...miserable? Confused? Tired. Definitely tired. Could hardly get his limbs to move.”

“So there are others?” Harry whispers, his fingertips start to tingle at this revelation.

She nods. “Told you that my grandchild was gifted. Of course you’re not alone.”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe it was just me and your grandson. Nature buggering up twice and all that.”

“I told you, it’s called a gift for a reason. The Louis boy’s gift has to do with his head though...can’t imagine what it would be like to have something so precious in your skull and not understand it. He was ripping at his head when he came here. Scratch marks there and everything.”

Harry understands this. His gift lies in his fingertips and if he doesn’t use it regularly, they start to itch. Sarah’s grandson’s gift was in his shoulder blades, the same happens to him. “He must be powerful,” Harry states, trying to think of what his gift might be. “Why didn’t you have him stay? Explain it to him like you did to me?”

“He’ll be back.”

“Oh. Sometimes I think that you’re gifted,” Harry accuses with a quick smile.

She ignores this. It was a silly accusation that Harry made daily that she often waves off with a snort. “How are you today, dear?”

“Fine,” he supplies.

“Take off your gloves.”

Harry pouts, but complies. Beads of sweat from his body have already collected and are resting on his finger tips. His fingers hum with energy and soon water from around the room flies to the tips (Sarah’s tea, the drying clothing originally out in the snow, etc.) all pool around his hands and Harry groans.

“So not fine, then?” she teases while Harry flicks his hands, trying to get the water off.

So far he’s been having a love/hate relationship with winter. He likes how he can wear gloves without anyone questioning why, but hates how much water there is just lying around. The fact that he lives in England where rainy weather is normal is another thing Harry has been agonizing over. He’s only just “awakened” the gift though, so his control of it is massively less than perfect.

“Just relax, darling,” Sarah says for the hundredth time.

Harry grits his teeth. “I am relaxed.” More water pools around his hand at this statement.

“Obviously you aren’t relaxed. Think of your sister and your mum. Oh, I know, sing that song you’re always buggering on about. The one by Stevie Wonder?”

Harry tries to control his panicked breathing as the water crawls up his arm, flattening itself against his sleeves. “Isn’t she lovely,” he mutters.

“Sing it,” Sarah pushes.

The water crawls up his neck. He is reminded of the first time he drowned himself and he panics even more. “Isn’t she wonderful,” he whimpers as the water cools his chin.

Sarah stands up and kneels in front of the scared boy, grabbing his face in her hands. “Focus. Relax. Think of when you first heard your favourite song, darling,” she soothes and rubs circles around his dimples.

At her touch, he relaxes and continues to sing. “Isn’t she precious...less than one minute old..”

The water stops it’s crawling and vibrates in it’s spot as Harry finishes the song. Sarah pats his head proudly and grabs a towel from her coat cabinet. She wipes up as much water as she can while the tingling in his fingers dulls, keeping the water in place but not gathering more.

Harry winces. “Drowning in water is hardly a gift,” he mutters darkly to himself.

Sarah tuts. “It’s just getting closer to you, I think. Wants to be a part of you. You’re a charming lad,” she teases softly.

As soon as most of the water is towel dried, Harry quickly puts the gloves back on and sighs in relief. Sarah chats next to him while he wills his heart to stop pounding so much. “Imagine what that boy is going through. All alone...he’ll be back. There was something important here, especially if it’s two hours away from his home.”

“Two hours?” Harry squeaks. “How did he gets here?”

“I don’t know...one second I’m shoveling snow, the next there’s a very young and very naked boy bleeding on your front porch. Scared the shit out of me.” She looks at the ground thoughtfully before adding, “You think he teleported here?”

Harry gasped. “Teleportation?”

“Maybe. Who knows? Take the biscuits with you home, darling. I have a few phone calls to make.” She gets up and leaves Harry on the sofa, mind reeling with the information.

He bundles himself up, covering as much skin as he can and leaves Sarah’s house with the plate of still hot biscuits. At least the snowing as stopped and the skies are clear. The snowman in her yard is a weird reminder of the strange events of this afternoon, but Harry still looks on it fondly. He loves building snowmen.

As he passes through his yard, he pauses at what he now knows to be bloody stains. The Louis boy’s gift has to do with his head though...can’t imagine what it would be like to have something so precious in your skull and not understand it. Sarah’s words repeat in his head as he ducks into his empty house to wait for his mum to come home for work.

Placing the biscuits on their kitchen counter, he slowly unwraps from his layers--keeping his gloves on--and starts dinner. Their house is small, yet cozy. It’s a two-story with the kitchen connecting to a dining and entertainment area. Harry’s room is on the second floor next to Gemma’s old room and furthest away from his Mum’s. He couldn’t be more grateful for this fact now that Mum is dating Robin.

His own dating life is somewhat buggered up. Being sixteen with a gift he can’t control really messes with the whole dating scene. Before all he really worried about was his revelation that he enjoyed the strong lips, rough chin, and tough hands of boys over the girls he was dating. Of course this fact had to come through his former best friend snogging him while drunk a few months ago before completely ignoring him.

Sarah said that gifts can be triggered through emotional instability. Apparently being heartbroken counts as this and he woke up one night, drowning in water. Luckily he can’t control water when he passes out, so he didn’t die. Just traumatized by the experience.

Sarah was there, though. She saw his terror and understood. Asked him what happened and explained it all for him. Now he goes to her to help try and control it, but it takes practice. So much practice. So much bloody practice.

With the chicken all cut up and seasoned, Harry places it in the oven and starts chopping at carrots and potatoes.

So. Much. Bleeding. Practice.

And after every session of “take your gloves off and watch water crawl up inside your lungs” he feels so empty. Tired and hungry, while his fingertips finally feel normal again until Harry’s rested, then the tingling starts again. What does he have to do? Always collect water on his hands for the rest of his life?

This thought leads him to thinking of the boy again. Imagine that itching/tingling feeling in his head. Always there, always wanting him to teleport or do whatever it is that he does. He must have somewhere there supporting him. There’s no way he could be handling something like that by himself. No way.

“Sweetie, it smells delicious!” his mum calls from the doorway. She walks in and kisses his cheek before grabbing some wine and relaxing at the dining table.

“How was your day?” Harry asks over his shoulder.

That sets her off into stories of unreliable co-workers, technological deficiencies, and Robin being a sweetheart. Harry listens and nods, finishing up the vegetables and pulling out the chicken. He dishes up their meal and sits at the table with her, stealing a sip of her wine.

“Underage!” she hisses playfully. “How was your day?”

_Failed my maths exam, met a fit bloke who was naked in our yard, and nearly drowned._ “Eh, the usual,” he replies.

She smiles at him and they dig into their food. “You’re still wearing your gloves,” she states, pointing her fork at his hands.

“Cold,” he replies.

“Again?”

“Yes, sorry.”

She shakes her head, her lip pouting out a bit in her worry. “Is it the heating in the house, darling?”

“No, just my hands.”

“Okay…”

He doesn’t really have a reason for keeping his “gift” a secret from his family. In fact, Sarah encourages that he tells them, but the thing is...part of him thinks that this is all his imagination still. Like, he’ll wake up tomorrow without a tingling and have Sarah pop out of his closet laughing and saying it was all an elaborate joke to keep his mind off his sexuality. She would probably do something like that.

“Haven’t seen James around, are you two still friends?” Mum asks after a while.

So...he also hasn’t told him mum about his sexual epiphany. He’s been putting it off for months because, well, she’s kind of all he has now. He has the occasional acquaintance and friend at school, but James and him were so close...he didn’t have much of a relationship with the other friends in their group. Now that James is gone, they’re gone.

He sighs. “Mum, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Of course that’s when Robin decides to come in. “Anne, baby! Harry, smells good as always,” he booms as he walks in, taking off his scarf and gloves.

Harry’s fingers tingle in his frustration. He loves Robin, don’t get him wrong, he just has piss poor timing.

“Hello darling!” Mum smiles at him.

He reaches over and pecks her on the lips. An action that Harry would probably find to be adorable if he wasn’t trying to keep his fingers from itching. Think of Gemma...Think of the first time I heard my favourite song.

“What’s going on?” he questions, grabbing himself a plate and resting at the table.

Mum pats his arm. “Harry has something to say, isn’t that right?” she asks me.

Harry gulps and shakes his head. “Just that Sarah made us biscuits.”

“Did she really? She’s too soft on us,” Mum groans, but retreats to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits.

“Anything else?” Robin asks kindly.

_I’m gay. Water is attracted to me. Sarah says it’s an inherited gift, but I’m more than positive that Mum doesn’t have a gift. So my long lost father that walked out on us is probably gifted and I want to meet him. Also, some really fit bloke was at Sarah’s yesterday and she says he’ll probably be around again. I miss James. I miss Gemma. I think I might be mad. Help._

“Nope, nothing else,” Harry states with a shrug. He steals another sip of wine before getting up and putting his dirty dishes in the sink. He cooks, Mum cleans, it’s a good compromise.

They say their goodbyes as he retreats upstairs into his bedroom and turns his laptop on. His playlists are already set up and ready to go when the computer buzzes to life, so he clicks on them and allows the soothing melodies to calm him.

His bedroom is simple. White walls, white carpeting, blue duvet, a small desk in the corner, a few shelves filled with his cds...not really all that sophisticated. Harry’s favourite part of his room is the ceiling. Gemma and him glued glow-in-the-dark plastic stars on it, because she used to sleep in this room. They both never really liked being alone, especially when Dad left and Mum started working a lot.

His tingling fingers begin to itch and Harry groans. He’s used to and yet not used to having to deal with this--this constant yearning to play with water. He slowly removes his gloves and opens a waterbottle by his bed. The water glides up and sticks to the tips of his fingers, swirling around between his thumbs and forefingers before humming against his middle fingers. Harry tries to just focus on this small clump of water, hoping that he won’t attract more and that this clump will just stay in his hand.

These thoughts are short lived as the clump flattens against his skin and starts to climb. He tries not to panic, he really does, but he’s nearly drowned himself so much that his stomach sinks and heart speeds up when the water passes his wrist. He fumbles for the towel on his desk and tries to wipe it off, but the towel stays dry and the water continues to cling onto him.

He curses when his phone goes off. He walks over and uses his elbows to answer the call. “Hello!” he yells into the speaker.

“Harry?” a voice says back.

James. The water pauses as though it’s shocked too. “James?” Harry stammers.

“I can’t really hear you, mate. You’re really soft,” he says back.

Erm. He can’t really put it on speaker, but soon it’s not a problem. The water jumps from one hand to the other, leaving him able to properly pick up the phone. “Sorry about that,” Harry says once he gets his mobile to his ear.

“No problem. Me and a bunch of the lads are having party tonight and...well...we decided to invite you along.”

Harry’s heart flutters and the water vibrates more. “Really?”

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry about--”

“Don’t worry about it! Where is the party? What time should I be there?” Harry cuts him off and jumps a bit in his spot. He’s willing to admit that he’s been very tired of spending his Friday night in his room.

“Just at Josh’s place and I’m headed over there now. Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.

“Yes, okay. Give me five minutes,” Harry states in the phone, grabbing presentable clothing and wiping the now completely stilled, but vibrating, water off his hands. The tingling is still there, but the water comes off without too much fuss.

“Okay, be there in five.” James hangs up.

Harry dresses quickly and grabs his gloves. Mum and Robin are cuddled in the sofa talking quietly to each other and Harry pauses a bit to smile at how sweet they are. “Hey Mum, James and I are going to a party.” He tries to keep his excitement out of his voice. It’s not like they didn’t used to do this every weekend before the kissing incident.

“Oh, really? Good to hear. Tell him he should come around again. Miss him around here,” Mum says, her eyebrows raising appreciatively.

Harry waves her off when he hears a honk and quickly ducks out of the house. James’s small red car idles in his parkway and Harry hesitates. _Should I go? You’re being stupid. This is JAMES_. You’ve been best mates for ages. He shakes out of himself and shuffles to the passenger door.

“You’re quite bundled,” James comments as a greeting.

Harry blushes. “Erm, hello to you too.”

“Pleasantries,” James rolls his eyes. “Who needs them?”

They laugh and he pulls away. Harry glances at Sarah’s darkened yard where the snowman is slightly illuminated by the moon. A shiver runs down his spine and he feels as though he’s being watched. Not for the first time in his life, either. He looks away from the window and watches the side of James’s face.

“So...how’s the family?” Harry questions.

“The same. Joanna’s thinking of trying some footie in the summer.” Joanna’s his baby sister.

Harry smiles. “She’d be lovely.”

James grunts a response and turns into a parkway. The house is bright, the bass pounding can be heard from James’s car, and the front door is wide open. “Here we are,” Harry says in an obvious manner.

James rolls his eyes and parks the car. “Here we are,” he remarks.

The warmth inside of the house is a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. The two boys are immediately pulled into the music and loud chatter. Alcohol is very prevalent in everyone’s behaviors. James leads them to the kitchen where the rest of their friends are. They scramble over and pat Harry on the shoulder muttering about how they missed him and such.

He’s handed a cup of sticky and bright coloured substance that he pretends to drink while everyone tries to catch him up on their lives. He feels...off once James leaves the group to do his social rounds. People fall silent and Harry backs off mumbling an excuse to use the restroom.

He gets the distinct feeling that he was never really friends with any of them. It’s a bit harsh to think of, but he feels better alone than he does unwanted. Harry manages to find a somewhat isolated corner of the party and sits to wait for James to take him home. It’s going to be a long night.

A red haired man with bulky glasses and pudgy cheeks sits next to him. “You look just as miserable as I feel right now, mate.”

“You must be feeling pretty damn miserable then,” Harry states and the two smile at each other.

“You’re wearing a lot of layers. M’names Ed, by the way,” he adds, holding his hand out.

Harry shakes it before unbundling himself and saying his own name. “Harry.”

They relax into a conversation around their similar music tastes. Ed talks a lot about an Irish friend of his that “plays the guitar like a fingered orgasm” and he’s trying to get said Irish friend out of Ireland and into his band. “I’ve written some songs and I really think our voices compliment each other. He hasn’t really been in contact with me much lately. He’s got some job that keeps him busy.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry responds feeling actual sympathy for Ed.

“S’alright, Harry. Do you play?” Ed asks.

“I sing sometimes, but my musical talents are very limited.” He laughs when Ed scoffs.

“You’ve got a nice voice, I’m sure you’re sexy as hell when you sing,” he decides.

Harry shrugs, smiling at the compliment. They dive into their respective love of fruit when James stumbles over.

“Harry,” he slurs. He’s obviously drunk out of his mind when he sits and cuddles into Harry’s side. “You were wearing so many coats. Who wears that many coats?”

The cuddling warms Harry. Reminds him of how close they were before the incident. They were nearly inseparable. Mum always complained about how she had three children to feed. Gemma always teased them about being boyfriends with all their hugs and handsy movements.

Ed excuses himself and leaves with a departing smile and wave. They’ve already exchanged phone numbers so that Harry can attend one of his upcoming gigs.

“You’re wearing gloves,” James remarks, poking Harry’s hands.

“You’re not wearing gloves.” Harry laughs at James’s frown.

They cuddle together for a while, James practically sitting on Harry’s lap until James asks, “Why won’t you touch me?”

“Erm, I am touching you.”

“No, I want your fingers. Your long fingers, Har-bear. Come on, didn’t you miss me?” Harry winces at his nickname.

A shiver runs down Harry’s spine and he looks up at the party. He feels like he’s being watched again, but no one is giving them attention. He cards a gloved hand through James’s hair, but James just grumbles into his shoulder. “You didn’t miss me.”

“I did,” Harry relents and takes off his gloves. He ignores the tingling and strokes James’s face, hair, arms, back, everywhere until James sighs with content.

“I missed this,” James whispers.

“Me too,” Harry whispers back.

He looks up and stares at Harry for a while before pulling Harry down and kissing him roughly. Harry responds to the kiss easily, letting James’s tongue explore his mouth. They grip onto each other, panting into their mouths, teeth crashing, tongues wrestling, and just everything Harry remembers about their first kiss.

James starts moving his hips first and Harry gasps into his mouth and eagerly thrusts his own movements up into James’s groin. Moaning answers and they pull off the kiss, focusing on their hips. Harry’s blood travels south and his head rolls back in absolute bliss, feeling James’s own hard cock against his thigh.

It’s when James pulls back suddenly that Harry sees and feels his hands. A lot of sweat from both James and Harry has gathered around his hands, flattening and twirling around his palm and wrist, itching up his arm. Harry panics and grabs his gloves while James pulls him up by the collar of his shirt.

“My car,” he whispers into Harry’s ear.

“My g-gloves and c--” Harry’s statement is cut off when James grabs his cock through his trousers.

“Come on, Har-bear.”

Harry gulps and nods, following James outside. It started snowing again and Harry stuffs his hands in his tight trouser pockets until they get to the car. James crawls on him the second he closes his door and they get back into the heat of things. Harry’s definitely gay. He knows it. He’s never felt so turned on like this when he’s snogged girls.

“Bet you’ve missed my cock,” James whispers into his neck, grinding down.

Harry whimpers, clinging onto James’s thighs.

“Yeah...look at you. Practically begging for it.” He fondles around and unzips Harry’s trousers while Harry tries not to cum. “Tell me you missed me,” James demands, pulling at Harry’s trousers and then pants.

“M-m-missed you,” Harry breaths out.

James laughs. “Good boy. Now Har--what the fuck?!” he yells and jumps back, head hitting the roof of his car.

“James?” Harry questions and then sees in the side view mirror what caused the reaction. Harry’s body is practically dripping wet. Water is dripping everywhere, but, Harry notes to himself, none of it is actually trying to choke him to death. It’s all just clinging onto Harry’s skin like an extra layer of skin.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” James demands, standing as far away as he can in the confines of his car.

Harry groans as he pushes his very full dick back into his pants and pulls his trousers back on his hips. “James, nothing wrong with me. Calm down and I’ll explain,” Harry tells the boy smoothly.

James snaps out of his surprise and pushes out of his car. “Get out, you freak.”

“J-J-James?” Harry chokes. It’s one thing to think that he’s a freak. Another to hear his former best friend/passionate snog buddy to say it outloud.

James glares at him and Harry climbs out, not really understanding what’s going on. “How am I supposed to get home?” he whispers.

“Go suck some other bloke’s cock and drip on their leather seats. You fucking freak of a poof. Why’d you kiss me? Huh? You’re disgusting,” James grimaces and leaves Harry.

One thing about being covered in water is that you don’t really notice when the tears come. They just get sucked into the water already vibrating against your skin. Harry doesn’t bother going inside, he doubts he can get the water off himself anyways, so he grabs his mobile from his pocket and groans when he sees the water damage.

The flakes of snow all get sucked into Harry’s already covered skin. The water gathers, but that’s the least of his problems. He’s not sure where he is. Harry walks to a very dark, very isolated part of the yard and collapses into the snow, letting all the water gather and cuddle him in a watery embrace. The water layered on his face doesn’t enter his nostrils like it has in the past, just passes by his nose and mouth like rocks in a river bed.

“You okay?” a concerned voice breaks Harry from his quiet tears.

A broad boy, about his age, stands over him. Another bloke the same age hovers nearby. They both seem to not think that the snow melting around him/snowflakes aiming for him/water already circling his body is weird. In fact, the first bloke seems intrigued.

“No,” Harry’s voice breaks.

“Erm, we were just heading out...we, er, saw you in the car with that guy and--uh, heard what he said. For the record, we don’t think you’re a freak,” the bloke stumbles and stammers over his words.

Harry ignores his eloquence and sits up quickly. “I’m gifted. You don’t think I’m weird?” he asks.

“Yeah, mate--”

“Liam,” the other boy finally speaks up. He places a protective hand the his friend’s chest.

“Zayn, he’s literally covered in an ocean,” Liam says the the boy.

Zayn shuffles in his spot, eyeing Harry as though he’s some disgusting worm on the pavement of his life. “Still, we shouldn’t talk out here,” Zayn concludes and grips Liam’s shirt, pulling him toward a massive pick-up truck.

Harry gets up and races after them, heart beating hard against his chest. Liam flashes an apologetic smile at Harry when they reach the truck and Zayn orders Harry into the back. “I’m Liam Payne,” he says holding out his hand.

Harry takes it and shakes. “Harry Styles.”

Liam pulls his hand back and stares at it in amazement. It’s stayed dry throughout the handshake. They climb into the truck and Liam drives them quite a ways out, further away from Harry’s house. When Liam parks the truck, Harry climbs out and looks on the house. It’s too dark to pick out many features, but it’s pretty average-sized. The porch light illuminates a nice snow-covered garden and the chimney is billowing puffs of smoke up into the blackish-blue sky.

Liam leads them into the house and Zayn eyes Harry at the threshold, reminding him of his--erm--wet situation. “Could I borrow a few towels?” he asks the boys.

Liam nods and races off to get the towels while Zayn pointedly ignores him. Harry tries to make the silence less uncomfortable. “Thanks for..you know, asking if I was okay after James--” the pain of rejection hits Harry hard. It’s belated, but painful.

“That was Liam,” Zayn replies with a far-away look in his eyes.

Liam returns with a pile of towels and drops them on the ground in front of Harry. Harry thanks him and towels off as much as he can, feeling empty and cold as the vibrating water leaves his skin. The tingling in his fingers has long since left and he feels tired.

They all enter the surprisingly empty house and gather round the fireplace. Once settled, Liam beams at Harry and says, “Did you say something about being ‘gifted’? I think I know what you mean by it, but it seems like a strange choice of wording.”

Harry smiles and nods. “That’s what my friend Sarah calls it. Her grandchild was gifted. Obviously I have the gift of waterbending,” he states, wiggling the tips of his fingers.

“Ha, I kind of noticed, mate. I’m--erm--” Liam fumbles with his words, massaging his right bicep. Zayn is quick to stroke his back soothingly. Liam shots him a grateful look before trying again. “I’ve got super strength or something.”

Really? “Where do you get the itching feeling,” Harry asks, leaning forward on his elbows

Liam’s eyebrows raise appreciatively. “I didn’t think that was a common thing…?” he points at his bicep.

“It is. Sarah’s grandchild has the gift of flight. He grows wings from his shoulder blades so he itches there. She says he hardly ever wore a jumper,” he talks as if discussing the weather, hoping that Liam and Zayn won’t kick him out of the house.

Liam nods, following his words with a greedy look in his eyes. “So where do you itch? Is that the only other, erm, gifted person you know?”

Harry holds up his fingers again and wiggles them. Liam’s eyes widen in understanding while Zayn’s eyebrows furrow. “Sarah thinks that she’s met another one today. He popped into my yard unexpectedly,” Harry carefully leaves out the part of him being nude. Silly, he knows, but he wants to guard the stranger’s virtue. “and she saw scratches on his scalp? Like, you know when you don’t use your gift or whatever for long periods of time and the itch becomes unbearable? That kind of scratching.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean!” Liam all but jumps on Harry, staring right into his eyes as though he’s worried Harry’s going to disappear.

Zayn glares at Harry over Liam’s shoulder, seething in his spot in the carpet. “Erm,” Harry states awkwardly.

Liam pulls away and beams. “Tea? Coffee? I think we have a lot to discuss.”

“Er, yeah, tea would be great, actually,” Harry replies. His body begins to feel very weak like someone sucked his energy out through a straw.

Liam nods and skips away to his kitchen. Zayn stares off after him and then glares at Harry.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

Louis does return. In fact, Louis pops into Harry’s bedroom.

He’s hunched over on the floor, gasping for breath as Harry freezes in his bed--shocked and worried by Louis’s appearance. He had spent the previous week answering so many questions (“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”) and he was looking forward to sleeping, but his life has never been that easy.

Louis sits up and freezes in his panic. His eyes take in his surrounding resting on Harry curled up on a ball on his bed, music playing from his laptop to soothe him into peaceful slumber. Slumber that will now not happen. Especially since Louis is naked. _Hot damn_.

Harry throws one of his blankets at the shocked bloke and scrambles to turn off his laptop.

It takes a few minutes, but Louis breaks the silence. “Fuck.”

_Yes, please_. “Welcome back,” Harry replies.

Louis looks at him again. “Fuck.”

_If you insist_. “Would you like a cuppa?”

Louis shakes his head, but groans at the movement. He holds his head in his hands and then precedes to vomit all over Harry’s floor. “Fuck,” he says again.

_Not after you killed the mood. Well, okay sure. Only because you’re pretty._ Harry gets up and pulls some clothes from his wardrobe. “I’ll go make some tea. You...you find a dictionary or something.”

He stares at the clothes handed to him and Harry leaves with a few glances back. He returns a few minutes later with a couple cups of tea and a (disappointedly) clothed Louis going through his cd collection. “See anything you like?” Harry asks him, handing him his cuppa.

Louis jumps in surprise, but takes the cup. He doesn’t answer and stares at Harry like he’s some sort of ghost. What he should do is take Louis to Sarah so that she can calm him down and properly explain what’s going on, but Harry’s tired and Sarah’s probably already asleep. She tends to go to bed by seven and it is nearing one in the morning. So, instead, Harry goes to his bed and grabs one of the water bottles.

He breaks the seal, opening it, before removing his gloves and letting the water cling onto his fingers. He hasn’t perfected anything, not by a long shot, but he feels more comfortable with the water. It’s like an old friend coming in for a cuddle. The water hums in agreement at this thought.

“Fuck,” Louis says for maybe the umpteenth time.

Harry grins cheekily at him. “Yes, yes, you’re a hormonal man with needs, but can we get passed that now?” he jokes lightly.

To his surprise, Louis laughs. “S-S-Sorry.”

Harry shrugs and walks over to the boy. The water is crawling and covering as much as it can, His sleeves are drenched, but there wasn’t enough water to do much more than that. “I’m what they call ‘gifted’. I have the gift to attract water. Sarah says that I should be able to manipulate it at some point, but right now, I’m like an overgrown sponge.”

Louis nods along, the mug of tea shaking in his hand. Harry notices that his forehead is drenched in blood and he curses, “Oh shit!” before grabbing his towel off the desk and wiping at it. “You’ve been postponing this trip, haven’t you?” he whispers mostly to himself, but Louis mouth falls open in surprise.

“How did you--”

“How about we just get you to lay down for a bit, mate. I’m sorry I showed the water thing to you so quickly. I’ve just been having something of a bad week and I want to get all this over with, you know?” he mutters and guides Louis to his bed, forcing him to lay in it while he grabs bandages for his forehead.

Louis allows himself to be cared for and watches Harry with bright, blue eyes. “Okay,” Harry nods to himself when the work is done. He walks over to the light switch and flicks to turn lights off before returning to his bed.

He has a bit of brief hesitation before he jumps in and curls next to Louis. “Sleep, I’ll explain it all in the morning,” he tells him.

Louis whimpers a bit before finally saying, “I don’t want to sleep.”

“Why not?” Harry questions his back.

Louis doesn’t respond and Harry drifts off, utterly exhausted.


	2. The Spanish Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've planned for five chapters all about this length, but there is a very good chance that number will change...sooo...yeah. A massive thanks to Kathryn for beta-reading!

The next morning Harry wakes up to water tickling his ear. He bolts up and hisses. Wet willy. Never a good feeling. Now he knows not to sleep before drying. His fuzzy mind turns to Louis sitting at his desk, flipping through a book, a pile next to him.

“Morning,.” Harry yawns and stretches.

“Do you have a sister? When did you start growing out your hair? Do you often doodle in your history class? Do you have a cat? Do you cook dinner? Did you snog a blonde boy in a car? Have you--”

Suddenly Harry misses the taciturn Louis. “Slow down, I already got this shit from Liam--” Louis gasps, mouth falling open.

“Do you know Niall too?! Do you dream about them? Are all of us supposed to be soul mates? Do you happen to have Nicholas Sparks’s number? I think I’ve got an idea for his next movie--”

“Shut it,” Harry cuts him off and slaps his hand over his mouth. He notices deep red surrounding Louis’s light blue irises and frowns. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

Louis shrugs, the movement jostling Harry’s hand a bit, but he holds tight. “I’m going to let go of your mouth. Please don’t ask anymore questions until I get a cuppa.”

Louis nods and Harry lets his hand drop. He doesn’t realize how close they’ve gotten until Louis licks his lips. Harry is suddenly overwhelmed by how...beautiful he is. Sharp cheek bones, easy going smile, crinkled eyes, soft looking tousled brown hair. Louis grins and asks, “Do you have a fit mum?”

That breaks whatever atmosphere was going about. “NO MORE QUESTIONS!” Harry groans and grabs his gloves from the floor before leaving, jogging downstairs and into the kitchen. His mum’s carkeys are gone, so he assumes that him and Louis are the only ones here. Good, no need to explain why the fit bloke was wearing his clothes. Louis skips behind him, looking completely comfortable in a strangers house which only proves to Harry that yes, Louis did not sleep last night. He probably walked around looking through their medicine cabinets and stealing into their candy stashes.

He watches patiently as Harry puts a kettle on the stove and smiles when they make eye contact. “You sleep well then?” Louis asks.

“What did I say about questions?” Harry groans, but returns the smile. “Yeah, alright. What were you up to all night?”

Louis’s eyes sparkle mischievously and he shrugs his shoulders. Harry stares until he realizes that Louis isn’t going to answer his question. _So...it’s going to be like that then. He's lucky he's pretty_. He turns to flick the stove off once the kettle gives a ear splitting shriek. “Cuppa?” he asks, back still turned to Louis.

“Hmmm, no thanks.” Harry hears Louis say.

He nods in response and pulls his favourite mug from the cupboards. He carefully pours the hot liquid in, prepping the tea leaves and forgoing sugar entirely. It takes away from the real gritty taste of tea--the strength the liquid has.

Louis continues to watch him with intent, comfortably unabashed with the stare. “Are you quite finished?” he asks, head resting in the palms of his hands. His elbows are holding his head up and he winks at Harry.

“Erm…” Harry mutters. He’s not entirely sure he’s ever going to be ready for this type of thing. To have to answer all of these questions that everyone has. How did he become the expert? He’s barely just awakened his own gift. Liam’s had his for several years, yet he kept questioning Harry, begging him with his eyes. Those stupid puppy dog eyes.

Louis continues to watch unwavering, waiting patiently while Harry fidgets in his spot. The whole staring thing is really unnerving. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he whines and ducks his chin, glaring at the floor.

“Like what?” Louis doesn’t even try to hide his amusement in his voice.

Harry looks up and frowns. “Like I’m interesting to something,” he mutters before grabbing a banana from the countertop and storming into the dining area. Louis follows easily, a skip in his step.

“Why are you wearing gloves?” he asks.

Harry’s stomach clenches. He’s tired of that question. “Not really in the mood for a bath at the moment, mate,” he responds.

Louis’s eyebrows twitch and he takes a seat across from Harry. His fingers follow the pattern on the wood of the table surface while Harry consumes his make-shift breakfast. After a few moments of silence, he asks, “What do you dream of?”

“What?” Harry sputters. He wasn’t really expecting that kind of question. He was expecting questions like Liam’s (“Why do I have it? Does it ever go away?”).

“Dreams, Harold. What do you dream of?” Louis repeats. He folds his hands delicately on the table and watches patiently.

Harry tries to shrug off the shiver that goes down his spine. “The usual stuff, I guess? Sugar plums and all that. Going to school in my knickers...eating a marshmallow cloud...playing in the snow?”

Louis looks disappointed by the answer and Harry has an overwhelming urge to cuddle him. To try and get that look off his face. “What do you dream of?” he asks, hoping that Louis doesn’t notice the blush at the tip of his ears.

“Oh...you know. The same.” Louis looks away and Harry misses the attention. He’s about to say something, to bring the attention back when Louis asks, “What am I doing here?”

The question itself is reasonable, really. What is Louis doing in a stranger’s house? If only Harry knew the answer. “Louis…” he starts, preparing some speech about how his gift is special to him and there’s no way for anyone else can understand it.

Louis seems to recognize that Harry’s about to go into a lecture and he quickly interrupts. “You know what? Never mind, forget that. I think I know why. Well, I don’t know _why_ , but I kind of understand why.”

Harry waits for him to explain further, but Louis looks at him with a tilt to his chin, a stubborn glint in his eyes. “Erm, okay. Do you remember Sarah?”

Louis scoffs at this question. “Do I really have a choice but to remember that crazy woman?”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough. I think she could help you more than I can. I barely understand any of this myself,” he comments lightly and stands.

They cross to Sarah’s house after spending the morning getting ready and making small talk. Once they reach Sarah’s walkway, Louis stops and grabs Harry’s elbow. “You aren’t going to leave, right?” he asks in a small voice.

Harry’s caught off guard. Louis looks so vulnerable in this moment. “Of course not,” Harry answers hard. He grabs Louis’s hand firmly and smiles at the smaller man before pulling him to Sarah’s doorstep. “You are not alone in this,” he adds, not really sure why he says it.

Louis flushes at those words and attempts to make a response until Sarah answers her door. “About bloody time,” she curses and waves them in.

Harry ignores her irritation and hugs her. “Sarah! You remember Louis, right?”

Sarah pats his back and glares at Louis over his shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she states.

Louis’s still on the doorstep. To say he looks shocked would be a massive understatement. Harry tries to reason with him. “Sarah’s not very...patient…”

“I hate waiting,” she adds with a grumble and pulls Louis in.

The three of them sit in the front room. Harry plays with his gloves, his fingertips are tingling with want and his blood is itching with nerves. It’s all become real all of a sudden. Each person he meets with a gift, the more Harry understands that this isn’t some massive prank being pulled. This is something that’s actually happening. This is something that Harry is apart of. The idea is...overwhelming to say the least.

Sarah leaves the room and returns with fresh bandages. She re-wraps Louis’s head and chats about her week as though he’s an old friend coming in for another visit. Harry squeezes Louis’s hand (still resting in his own palm) reassuringly when she finally settles in an armchair across from the sofa they're currently overtaking.

“So,” she breaths out and sips at a cup of tea. “What has Harry told you?”

Louis gulps. “Erm, he said something about being gifted and showed me his...uh, his gift.”

Sarah frowns and glares at Harry. “That was stupid.”

“I know.” Harry sighs. “To be fair, he did crash into my room very late last night.”

“Were you naked?” Sarah asks Louis as though questioning the current state of the weather.

“Erm,” Louis stammers, blush crawling up his neck.

“That explains it,” Sarah concludes. “You can go now, Harry. Louis and I need to talk.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to stammer and fidget in his seat. “Well...you see--”

“I’d prefer if Harry stayed,” Louis cuts him off, looking at Sarah and holding onto Harry’s hand with a tight hold.

She shrugs without so much as a glimmer of surprise and then talks to Louis. It’s the same explanation that Harry received all those months ago. Simple, yet reassuring. She explains that Louis is gifted, that he’s been given something extra, something special. It’s inherited and passed on like a recessive gene, the gift planting itself in different areas with each person. So far, no two gifts have been the same.

She explains how she knows this. Her grandson and his mother were both gifted. She looks sad when she talks about her daughter and about how she awakened her gift so late in her happy life after her husband died in a car accident. Sarah never talks much about her, moving on quickly to her grandson who's gift was awakened by the same incident.

Finally, she asks Louis questions:

“Where do you itch?”

“Erm...itch?” he asks, voice breaking from lack of use.

“Yes, itch. Tingle, perhaps? Where in your body do you feel extra energy.”

“My head...I suppose.”

“That’s what we thought. You’ve been scratching at your left temple.”

Louis touches the bandages and frowns. “It doesn’t itch.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sarah replies and stares at the bandage. “Why were you scratching at it?”

“It...hurts. Pounding, like a migraine or something, but it doesn’t itch.”

There’s a brief pause, but Sarah moves on quickly. Only glancing at Harry to exchange looks of surprise. “Okay. When did the pain start?”

Louis answers quietly. He says that it’s always been there and mentions that it’s only started to really hurt recently. (“How recent?” “A few months now.”). Sarah asks about others who may suspect about his gift and Louis mentions a few people (“Stan, my best mate, has caught me naked in his house more than once, unfortunately. I think he just suspects that I’m showing off. There was that thing about Hannah having to come pick me up from here last week. She’s still upset about that. My mum worries.”). Ultimately, the discussion turns to the teleportation (“How useful is it if I’m starkers anyways? Can’t rob a bank without leaving the money behind.) and he jokes about a few things, gripping Harry’s hand tightly. Harry can’t help but resent the glove on his hand. He wants Louis to feel his warmth, maybe he'll gain more reassurance this way. Eventually, Sarah chats about how her and Harry are practicing his gift. Strengthening it through brief sessions.

“Can I watch?” Louis asks, finally relaxing his grip.

Sarah nods and smiles at Harry. “You know the drill. Take them off.”

Well, it should probably be noted that Harry wasn’t really expecting a practice session today. Today is Louis’s day. Harry wants Louis to feel confident about himself, to know that his gift is apart of him and not foreign like Harry used to feel. The reluctance to practice is instantaneous. “I’d prefer not to,” Harry states.

Sarah’s nose wrinkles when she snorts. “Harry, this isn’t about you, dear. It’ll be quick, darling.”

Harry still frowns, but recognizes her intent. The tingling in his fingers has transitioned into a consistent burning feeling, the tips itching. He reluctantly pulls his hand out of Louis's and slowly removes the gloves. Louis watches and folds his own hands in his lap. Sarah smiles encouragingly and Harry folds the fabric into a pile on the coffee table.

As always, sweat already pools on the tips, feeding off the energy. More water joins soon after that coming from different corners of the room and vibrating against his skin. It’s irrational really how quickly Harry panics. He slept with a layer of water last night and has been playing with water bottles the past week, but this time is different. This time Harry has something to prove.

He tries staying relaxed, watching the water with an apathetic expression. The vibrating stops and the water crawls the familiar climb, clinging and moving up. Harry feels Sarah and Louis’s stares burning into him as he begins to shake. It’s different this time around. The water doesn’t feel like it did last night. It feels threatening.

It climbs and reaches his chin when Sarah moves and kneels in front of him. “Harry you need to relax,” she states firmly.

Harry opens his mouth to respond when the water flows in. He chokes a bit at the sudden entrance and freaks out. His shaking turns to tremors and tears fall from his eyes, pooling with the rest of the water. Sarah still talks to him in a commanding voice about relaxing and shit, but Harry stops listening. He feels the water go down the back of his throat and more go in through his nose. His breathing, originally already harsh in his panic, is near impossible with the water.

All of a sudden there are firm hands gripping his shoulders and shaking. “Harry? Harold? Hazza!” Louis says, his eyes on Harry’s. His touch sends shivers down Harry’s spine and the water stops it’s moving, vibrating in it’s spot. The pause allows for Harry to cough up as much as he can. His breaths are still harsh, but at least he _can_ breath.

Louis’s hand rubs circles on his back and Sarah dries the water off while Harry stares at the ground, focusing on Louis’s hand. As soon as the water’s off, he grabs the gloves and curls in Louis’s chest.

“Harry--” Sarah starts, but Louis shushes her and she leaves them muttering about making a new cuppa.

“I-I panicked. I can usually--”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I--”

“I know.”

“Louis--”

“I know, Harry.”

This is weird. He shouldn’t feel comforted by a boy he just met, but everything about Louis is familiar and warm. He doesn’t treat Harry like he’s a new acquaintance and clings onto him just as much as Harry clings onto Louis.

***

Harry is five when his dad left.

He can remember the screaming and yelling and the final slam of the front door. He can tell that Gemma knows what’s going on, he can see her eight year old self looking sad. He should be sad too, but he just doesn’t understand.

“Gemma?” Harry questions, his eyes tearing up suddenly. His heart feels broken and he doesn’t even know why.

His fingers twitch when he feels a tingling sensation at the tips, but his thoughts are pulled from this new sensation when Gemma tackles him into the carpeted floor. She tickles him relentlessly and he forgets all about the tingling and focuses on trying to get her away.

His spine shivers as his cackles turns into giggles. She pauses at one point, allowing Harry to tickle her back and she snorts. Eventually the two stop and lay on their backs, staring up at Harry’s bedroom ceiling.

Harry feels happy when he knows that he should feel sad.

***

Christmas Eve for eight year old Harry is memorable.

His mum has gone for work at one of her jobs and Gemma is with one of her friends. Sarah, the old lady from across the street, is here keeping Harry company. They make gingerbread men in the kitchen and snowmen in the yard until Harry decides that Sarah must be an angel.

“How are you so good at everything?” He pouts at her after somehow creating a perfect snow sphere for her snowman.

She laughs at this and pulls the young lad in for a cuddle. “I wouldn’t be able to without your help, dear,” she tells him firmly.

He accepts this with a chuckle and the two go back inside the house for hot cocoa when the phone call comes. Harry watches Sarah as she answers the phone. Her face turns from happy to surprised to panicked. When she hangs up, she kneels in front of Harry and takes his chin into her hand.

“We need to go to the hospital, dear. Gemma’s gotten into an accident,” she tells him calmly.

The day goes by in a daze, not one person leaving his side for long enough for him to realize what’s going about. Gemma was in a car accident caused by some black ice. She had her seatbelt on, so the family leaves the hospital by late afternoon with Gemma not too injured.

Mum had to leave work early and she cried when she first saw Gemma, but now she’s just relieved, kissing Harry and Gemma every opportunity she gets and whispering about how she promises they’ll have the best Christmas tomorrow.

Harry watches Gemma fall asleep in her bedroom and an eerie thought comes into his mind. _I could have lost his sister today_. An overwhelming sad feeling plunges at his stomach and he races to his mother in the room with the christmas tree. His fingers tingle.

“Mum,” he says, voice quivering.

She reaches down for her son and cuddles him, stroking his hair as he cries into her chest. She was wondering why he had been calm all day. “Harry dear, don’t cry. Santa will be here soon,” she coos into his little ear.

“Santa?” Harry pulls away and looks up at his mum with big eyes. The tips of his fingers are all but completely forgotten with the mention of presents.

She nods and stands up, holding onto her precious son. “Would you like to wait for him with me?”

“Yes,” Harry says breathily, wiggling in her arms because he can barely contain his excitement.

They sit by the tree and drink tea. It’s a little after midnight when Harry falls asleep under the branches.

He falls deeper into sleep after feeling a shiver go up his spine.

***

Harry meets James at school.

Gemma has been ignoring him because her friends say he’s too immature to be in their group anymore. He’s on the verge of tears, scratching at the strange tingling feeling in his hands when James strolls over and throws his arm around his shoulder. “Do you like ham and cheese sandwiches?” he asks Harry.

“Erm, yeah.” Harry stares at this strange blonde lad with deep, brown eyes.

“Good, because I think they're rubbish, here.” He thrusts the sandwich into Harry’s hands and sits right next to him, their thighs touching. “Name’s James. You’re Harry.”

They spend that lunch hour eating and complaining about their respective siblings. James has younger brothers and sisters and says that Harry is lucky to not have any (“They get into your stuff and cry all the time”). The next few days are similar, James trading lunches with Harry and then going on about what ever topic of conversation that he fancies having.

By the time they both turn fourteen, they’re inseparable.

“Har-bear, what are you listening to today?” James asks in their lunch hour. Their other friends are at the table in their own respective conversations and James is sitting comfortably in Harry’s lap.

“It’s a little known band. Sarah’s grandson sent her their album and she gave it to me to listen to,” Harry responds.

James strokes his hair. “I’m coming over to your house tonight. Jackson is sick and snores in his sleep.” Jackson is James’s younger brother that shares a room with him.

“Of course,” Harry replies.

They spend a massive chunk of the night watching films. Gemma joins them at some point, but leaves claiming that she feels like a third wheel to their cuddling. Harry rolls his eyes after her while James laughs. “It’s perfectly acceptable to cuddle your best mate, isn’t Harry?” he asks after a while.

“I would have to agree, James,” Harry responds in the same business manner.

James shuffles until he’s straddling Harry’s thighs and smiling down at the boy. “See? Cuddling puts me in a position most suitable for tickling,” he states seriously before poking Harry and tickling him.

Harry tries to get away, laughing and cursing while unable to catch his breath. They fall off the sofa in a heap on the floor and James pants above Harry, staring down at the boy on his back. There’s a strange shift in the atmosphere and Harry notices just how beautiful the curves to James’s chin are.

“You’ve got really green eyes,” James whispers to Harry.

Harry reaches up and strokes his chin and cheek until James pulls away, still panting. “Let’s watch something less girly, Har-bear,” he concludes, getting up and changing the film.

Harry smiles after him.

He feels happy.

***

Harry is fifteen when James asks him the question.

“Do you think it’s bad to like other blokes?” he whispers. They’re at James’s house, hiding up in the attic to keep away from the younger kids. Both boys are lying on their backs and chatting to each other.

Harry’s heart flutters. Each day he’s seen James become more and more beautiful. He’s become fond of the way his forehead crinkles when he laughs, the way he snores loudly when ever he falls asleep, and even the way he teases Harry for listening to the “weird” music that Susan gives him. He’s just happy around James.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry whispers back.

“Not like the normal kind of platonic thing, I mean liking other blokes to the point where you want to kiss them…” he continues.

Harry stares at him. He’s nervous, Harry can tell. He’s rocking his knee and biting his bottom lip. “It’s normal to feel those feelings, James. A lot of blokes are attracted to other blokes.”

“It’s not normal,” James snaps. “Most blokes like girls. You like girls. Especially Jenna.”

It’s strange for James to bring up Jenna. She was Harry’s first kiss years ago. Jenna was a part of Gemma’s group of friends and had to move to Wolverhampton when her father got a new job. Harry remembers feeling down about this, but Gemma was quick to comfort.

Harry continues to stare at James, memorizing the curves of his lips and the sharp jut of his nose. “I don’t think it’s wrong to like whoever you want. Everyone’s different. Just because most people do things a certain way doesn't mean _everyone_ has to. Like, let's say one person like red, that doesn't mean every other person has to like the colour red. It just doesn't work that way.”

James sighs and closes his eyes. He sounds frustrated when he says, “Harry…”

“You brought it up. I’m just giving you my opinion.” Harry can see James start to close off and it hurts him. He wants James to see that he’s not different, that people will love him no matter who or what he does. Harry will always love him.

James opens his eyes and they stare at each other for a few moments. It’s special. Harry can feel that in his gut. James reaches over and tucks one of Harry’s growing curls behind his ear. The part of Harry’s skin he touches feels warm.

Soon the moment is over and James turns back to look at the ceiling. “How did your maths test go?”

Harry wishes for the moment to come back.

Despite this, Harry is still happy.

***

Harry has just turned sixteen when he confesses.

Gemma has left for school again. She’s only spent a handful of weekends back home and both Harry and Mum miss her. Mum has taken to a handsome man she’s met at the grocery store and the moments she’s not working, she’s spending with Harry or the man. Harry can see a different kind of happiness in her now. A kind of happiness that Gemma and Harry could never help her with.

This night is similar to every other weekend night. Mum is on a date and Gemma is at school. Harry would probably feel alone if James hadn’t taken it upon himself to make sure he never had a lonely night.

“Harry, did you hear Jason talk about joining the footie team? He wants us to try out too,” James says, shoving chips into his mouth and lounging on Harry’s bed.

“Not us, James. He wants you to try out,” Harry responds. He’s looking through his CD collection and trying to figure out how to properly organize them on the new shelves Robin got him for his birthday last week.

James shrugs. “Same thing, really. He just wants someone else to try out with him.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Harry scoffs, turning to look at his best mate, the bloke he’s fancied for so long. “We’re not the same person. You’re James, I’m Harry, totally different beings.”

James drops from the bed and crawls to where Harry is kneeling next to his collection. “You’re upset,” he states. It’s not a question.

Harry is upset. Lately he’s felt tired of the physical contact between him and James because he knows James doesn’t feel the same way. He gets drunk every weekend and shags a different girl. None of those girls are Harry for fundamental reasons. Sometimes Harry just wants to rip his dick off.

“I’m not upset,” he lies anyways and pulls away from James’s outstretched hand.

James frowns. “What is up with you lately? You hardly go to lunch or hang out with me after school anymore. The only times I’ve seen you have been during classes and even then you’re listening to your shit music.”

“Yeah? Well, my ‘shit’ music is better than hearing you go on about every other bird you’ve snogged,” Harry snaps.

James’s eyes fill with pity and Harry knows that he should hate that, but he’s just glad that James finally understands. “Har-bear, you’re quite charming yourself. You shouldn’t be jealous,” he says and Harry clenches his fist. He doesn’t understand at all.

“James I don’t want those girls, you can have them.” Harry stands up and falls down face-first into his bed.

James stays seated on the floor and stares at the carpet with a twisted face. “You don’t want...girls? Is there something you need to tell me, Har-bear?”

This is ridiculous. The statement comes out almost as a joke. “Right, yeah, I’m gay.”

James just stares in shock before slowly shaking his head. Then the phrase comes out: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry…?” Harry sits up and looks down at James. “What are you sorry for? It’s who I am.”

“Right…” he responds slowly and gets up from the ground. “I’m just going to go home. Erm, it’s not you, Harry. I just need to think this over, yeah?”

 _Why?_ Harry wants to question, because it’s not like he’s the one that confessed anything here, but Harry watches him leave. He should be angry. He knows this. There are so many feelings that he should have that he never finds himself having. He should be angry at his sister for never calling or visiting, at his mother for never being around, at James for not getting it, but he doesn’t feel any of these things.

He just feels sad.

The moment the front door slams shut, Harry feels his fingers tingle and he stares down at them. Should they be tingling? Is there something wrong with the nerves? He falls asleep watching his hands.

***

The next month of school worsened Harry’s mood. James stopped being so handsy and treated him like any other friend, which Harry appreciated at first until he realized how lonely that makes him. However, James didn’t tell anyone else about Harry’s sexuality which is good. That’s not his information to tell and if anyone was confused by their newly developed interactions, they didn’t say anything.

This is what Harry wanted, right?

Harry knows he shouldn’t have come to the party this weekend. He knew he couldn’t handle watching James chat up another girl, yet here he sits uncomfortably next to the music stereo watching James shove his tongue down a redhead's throat while everyone else chats idly besides him.

He knows he should leave and he does, until James stops him in the front yard. “Harry! Oh god, Harry! You’re wearing those stupid ripped trousers,” he hiccups.

He falls forward and Harry catches him. “You’re pissed.”

“No, just a bit sloshed, mate,” he slurs and curls into Harry’s chest.

Harry holds him there worried about his state. Should he call his mum? He definitely shouldn’t drive like this. “Hmmm so you’re gay,” he whispers.

“Erm--”

“How did you know?” he asks and pulls away to stare at Harry. “Like, did you see some bloke’s cock and decide you wanted it?” He giggles and pokes Harry’s chest. “I bet you look up gay porn. You probably get off watching some bloke shoving it up another bloke’s arse.”

Harry’s frown deepens. He’s young and horny, yes, but him and his mum share a computer. James continues his jokes. “You probably finger yourself every night just begging for some cock to make it’s way to your prostate.”

“Ja--”

“Well that’s weird Harry. That’s not normal.” He burps and stumbles a bit before staring right into Harry’s eyes.

Harry’s flushed and he knows he should be upset. He should be offended, but he’s just...sad. James grabs and holds onto Harry’s cheek, just staring at him. “Your fucking eyes are so green,” he grumbles and pushes himself forward.

It takes a minute for Harry to realize that James is kissing him. Like, lip to lip contact. James’s lips are on Harry’s lips. This is something happening. James is the first to pull away. “Come on Har-bear. Kiss me,” he slurs and places his lips back on his.

Harry finally returns it thinking of all those stolen moments where him and James cuddled and held onto each other like it mattered, and it did matter. Hell, it still matters. James licks into his mouth and Harry can taste the sweet and bitter taste of alcohol. His lips are rough, chapped, and just...firm. His chin has a hint of hair and Harry loves it. Harry loves this kiss. Harry loves James.

He’s the first to pull away this time and James groans at the loss of contact. “I love you,” he tells him, because he does. It’s so simple. It’s probably the most simple thing he’s felt and understood in his whole life. Being in love, but, more specifically, being in love with James.

James laughs.

And then James cries.

Finally, James vomits on himself and passes out in the wet grass.

Harry is alone.

***

Sarah comes back into the room phone in hand. She has the most serious expression on her face that makes both Louis and Harry pull back and give her their fullest attention. She sits in the armchair again and stares at a spot above their heads almost like she's convincing herself to talk.

“I’ve decided that we need help,” she tells them.

“What do you mean by that?” Louis asks. Harry nods his agreement.

She places the phone down gently on the coffee table and wipes the palm of her hands on her skirt. “My grandson is going to fly in and stay for a while. He has a few friends that will be coming with him. It’ll be good for you guys. Learn from other gifted individuals.”

“Is that so? Why won’t you look us in the eye?” Louis’s voice is rough and untrusting. Harry reaches and squeezes his thigh to calm him.

Sarah finally does just that and holds the eye contact while she says, “You have to know that you always have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Harry whispers.

She leans forward in her seat. “My grandson doesn’t work at a publishing company. I lied about that. He...he works with this organization that--” she breaths in a deep breath, “Have you heard of Syco?”

“The vacuum company?” Harry asks while Louis fidgets.

She corrects him. “They’re more than a vacuum company. They’re a league of gifted individuals.”

“That use their gifts for the good of cleaning supplies…?”

“Fight those pesky evil dust mites?” Louis adds.

“Oh shut it, you two,” Sarah groans but smiles at them. “So you know them?” she asks Louis.

He nods. “I’ve read the conspiracy theories online. Didn’t realize there were truths to them.”

She laughs. “Some of them don’t like to be anonymous vigilantes.”

Vigilantes? Harry is confused and very much tired of being confused. Why is it that he doesn’t know anything that’s going on in his own life? “What are you two going on about?” he asks warily.

Louis looks at him with a slight smile. “Syco corporation is not a vacuum cleaner company. It’s an organized league of superheroes.”

“Sorry?”

Sarah speaks up this time. “My grandson is a superhero.”

“Really? Which one?” Louis asks, turning away from Harry.

Harry feels the blood rush out of his face and his hands shake. He leans forward to keep from vomiting and just breaths with his face between his knees.

“Grim Reaper, the one with wings,” Sarah answer Louis.

“Oh.” Louis sounds disappointed.

Harry feels a pair of hands run through his hair and Sarah ask, “Harry honey, are you okay?”

“Superheroes?” Harry manages to squeak in between his deep breaths.

“Yes, dear. A group of superheroes are going to come and train you two until you can take control of your own gifts,” Sarah says in her “calm down” voice that she usually only uses when he’s drowning in their practice sessions.

Breathing is becoming harder for Harry and he’s seeing spots in his vision. “Come on, Hazza, it’ll be fun!” Is that last thing Harry hears before he falls forward and blacks out on Sarah’s carpeted front room.

 

* * *

 

Liam is staring at his phone, waiting for that Harry boy to call him. Again.

“How about we do something else?” Zayn asks trying his hardest to smile at his best mate.

Liam looks up in surprise and returns the smile easily. “Sure, Z. What do you want to do?”

 _Anything else_. “Erm, have you finished your homework?”

“We did that yesterday. Unless someone assigned something via email, I think we’re good until Monday,” he responds without a hint of malice in his voice.

Why is Liam so...good? He’s too good. Zayn can’t even remember one instance that he has ever been mean to anyone. Well, the exception being Zayn’s old bullies, but even then he was reasonable. Hardly spoke two words to them, just walked over, grabbed Zayn, and left. Zayn doesn’t deserve him, really, but that Harry bloke doesn’t deserve him either, even if he’s a human whirlpool.

Liam starts itching at his already red biceps. “How about we go to the field?” Zayn asks, eyes watching his nails drag against the tortured skin.

“I’m good,” Liam replies hastily, dropping his hand from his bicep.

Zayn’s eyes roll automatically. “It’ll only get worse.”

“What will only get worse?” Liam plays stupid and fidgets.

Zayn gets up and waits, hands crossed over his chest, for Liam to follow. He does almost immediately. “I know I’m not _gifted_ ,” he emphasizes the word and feels guilty about it when he sees Liam wince. “But I know about the itching, Liam. I know because you told me and it’s only going to get worse if you ignore it. You know this.”

“Yeah,” Liam sighs and his eyes drop to stare at the wooden floors.

“Come on then,” Zayn says and grabs his forearm and drags him outside.

They follow a narrow dirt path until they reach a very spacious and very isolated open field with abandoned tractors, cars, and other vehicles. The owner of said field is as old as dirt and hasn’t left his house in several decades. Well, probably.

Zayn drops his hold of Liam and walks to a tree stump while Liam glares openly at the field. Once he’s situated comfortably on the stump, he points at the rusty tractor and says, “Move it.”

“It’s not even that bad! Can’t we hold off--”

“Move it,” Zayn repeats sternly.

Liam stares pleadingly for a while before frowning and stomping to the tractor. In all honesty, Zayn would have probably given in if he would have held that look for a little longer. He watches Liam bend down on his knees and grab the bottom of the tractor, grunting a bit before lifting it. He holds it awkwardly in his hands before immediately dropping it an inch to the right and jogging back to Zayn.

“There, now let’s go,” he pants.

Zayn watches Liams fingers twitch towards his biceps and frowns. He’s holding back. “Actually, I was wondering if you could move that ugly orange truck closer to that fence,” he says as he points at a barely-there fence on the other side of the field.

Liam shuffles his feet a bit but jogs over to do just that. He moves similarly to how he picked up the tractor, but he places it above his head and walks slowly to the fence. Zayn loves watching him use his gift. There literally is no trace of discomfort on his face. It makes Zayn want to see about how much he can lift, but Liam would probably never agree to that. He hates his gift.

He reaches the fence and and places the truck down carefully, stretching a bit before jogging back to Zayn. His eyes look less pained and a warmth spreads into Zayn’s chest. Liam always looks his best between working out and realizing he’s worked out. A brief flicker of time when he lets himself be happy.

His eyebrows furrow and the tips of his lips pull down soon and...there’s that guilt creeping up on him. Zayn just wants to wipe it off his face. Wants to bury that part of Liam far into the earth where no one can find it. He reaches Zayn and stuffs his hands in his trouser pockets. “Ready to go?” he asks in a polite voice.

Zayn pushes once more because of something that water freak Harry said. He practices his gift, Liam just goes until the itching is sufficed and, despite how annoying he was, Harry seemed happy. Zayn would give anything for Liam to be happy.

“Could you move the tractor to the other side next to that dead tree?”

Liam’s face falls. He looks surprised. “What?”

Zayn let’s his head fall back. “You heard me.”

“Erm…” Liam says and shuffles in his spot again before jogging off in a daze.

He’s quicker in moving the tractor and returns. “Actually, move it back,” Zayn tells him.

He leaves again and moves the tractor back.

Zayn nods his head in approval before frowning. “Hmm...I was right the first time, move it back again.”

“Are you serious?” Liam asks.

Zayn looks him dead in the eyes and Liam grumbles a bit, but leaves and heaves the tractor way back to the end of the field a second time. He returns to Zayn red in the face, but not from his workout. “We’re done,” he states and pulls Zayn up from the stump.

Zayn hears a pop in his shoulder as he’s basically lifted up and tossed away from the stump, but he ignores it. He’s knows that Liam can’t really control himself, which is why they come out here in the first place. Luckily, Liam didn’t pull hard enough to pop the joint out of the socket, but he came close.

Liam stomps up the path toward his house as Zayn saunters behind him taking his time and idly watching the muscles in Liam’s massive back move complimenting the toned calves. He feels his cock twitch and a blush prickle at the back of his neck. He wonders what Liam would look like if he actually put effort into a work out, all sweaty and red.

“You okay?” Liam asks looking back.

Fuck. Zayn had whimpered at the thought. “Yeah, mate.”

Liam stops and grabs Zayn’s arm cautiously, watching his own strength. “Look, sorry...I just would prefer not to, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn responds with a reassuring smile.

Liam sighs at this and drops his hold. “Good.”

They move to keep venturing to Liam’s house when his phone goes off. Now Zayn has to clench his teeth not to groan. It’s waterboy, he knows it is.

Sure enough, Liam’s face lights up and he answers it, “Harry?” His expression twists as he focuses on the words from the speaker. “Yeah sure I can, what’s your address?...Okay, no that’s not too far...Thanks, I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up and pockets his phone before looking at Zayn.

Zayn knows that looks. That’s his “please don’t hate me” look. Oh god, he’s going to ditch Zayn to run off with Curly top, isn’t he?

“Z…” he starts.

“Save it, have a good time with your boyfriend.” Zayn cuts him off with a wave of his hand and marches to get his _fucking_ stuff from Liam’s _fucking_ house.

Liam matches his pace easily. “You know it isn’t like that, Z.”

“Do I?” Zayn growls.

“Oh come on,” Liam says while grabbing his arm. Zayn winces at the bruising touch and Liam drops it immediately. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Just go.”

And Liam leaves with one last look with his big chocolate brown eyes that sends shivers of lust and guilt down Zayn’s body. He watches until the human formed puppy leaves before turning around and heading back to the bloody field.

He barely gets to his stump before the tears fall. Oh god, Zayn’s so in love with him. So very in love with him and has been ever since Liam pulled him away from the bullies years ago.

He made the mistake of insulting the intelligence of a very popular boy early on in his public schooling career. He had been home schooled by his genius mother for the longest time until the British embassy begged her to go back to work with them. By that time he was a healthy teenager with no way of knowing how the social structure of “the real world” worked outside of mind numbing television dramas and poorly written fictional works.

Luckily Liam has a god damned hero complex and got him out of there before he learned first-hand how much it hurts to get a fist slammed into your cranium. Liam had dragged him to the front office and the bullies were given detention and several lectures. He stuck around after that like the loyal puppy he is and Zayn returned the favour by helping him in class.

He really is rubbish at English.

There was a time when Liam was really gloriously happy with his gift. He dragged Zayn out to the field as soon as he got his father’s permission and flitted around, tossing the tractors and trucks around like a hyperactive toddler. Zayn was scared at first, not knowing what was going on. He hates not knowing things, so Liam was a challenge. Zayn never backs down from a challenge.

They did many experiments with Liam’s strength. Like, where it originated, how long it’d last before he felt drained, etc. It was so fun and Zayn took extensive notes until it wasn’t fun anymore. Until Danielle and her bushel of brown hair and fluttering eyelashes crashed into their lives.

She caught Liam throwing the tractor in the fields and the two became worse than every other PDA infested couple in the bloody purgatory known as public schooling. They flirted, caressed, and just touched each other for the whole three months that she dated him.

The accident was a surprise.

Liam didn’t know his own strength.

Now he does.

He doesn’t talk about it, but Zayn can assume what happened and it’s unfair to resent a dead girl, but does Zayn ever hate her. Liam’s dead on the inside and only a few things bring him out. One of those things being that fucking waterboy.

So sue him, Zayn’s jealous. He wishes he could get Liam as excited as he was when Harry talked to him and answered every burning question he had, but the most he can do is order Liam to move a few rusty vehicles across a field. Even then it’s pushing it.

All in all, Zayn isn’t in the best mood. Also, he’s not a very pretty crier. So when a loud popping sound breaks the quiet atmosphere, disrupting his very pathetic sobbing moment that Zayn’s having with himself, he screeches and a wad of snot flies out of his nose landing on a very naked bloke.

“The fuck…” Zayn curses and throws his jacket at him.

Louis looks over at him and frowns. “You’re not Hannah.”

“Er--”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not Hannah. Where am I?” he boy sits up and knots the jacket around his waist. “Oh god, what is this?!” he adds pointing at a hefty chunk of snot dribbling off his shoulder blades.

Zayn glares at him. He acutely remembers Waterboy talking about some bloke with a gift of teleportation and this must be the guy because who else would pop out of fucking no where?! “Liam’s not here. He’s already scampered off to go snog Waterboy,” Zayn snarls.

“Woah, calm down boy.” He holds his palms up and then his eyes widen comically. “Wait, you know Liam?!”

“Yes, I bloody know Liam--”

“Wait, you’re that one bloke that Liam pulled from that mob. What happened to your glasses? They really complimented your sharp features--”

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

“Oh, right. I’m Louis Tomlinson.” He holds out his hand and they shake.

“Zayn Malik.”

“Oh tattoos?”

“Erm, yeah,” he reaches to cover them up, but Louis slaps his hand away.

“They look really good.”

“Thanks,” he blushes.

Zayn wonders what his life has come to where he’s exchanging pleasantries with a naked bloke in a field of rusty vehicles after crying his heart out over a boy with superhuman strength. He tries to rid his mind of thoughts like this and vows not to think that hard about anything ever again. It causes too much stress.

Louis whistles to himself a bit before he asks. “So...Liam’s snogging who?”

“Some kid we met a party that plays in water,” Zayn states with a vicious glare.

Louis shutters under that gaze, but frowns and whispers, "Water...?"

"I think his name is Harry," Zayn explains, trying, but failing, to keep from rolling his eyes

“They're snogging? That can't be right," he mutters to himself.

Zayn’s lips perk up a little. “Well, they haven’t gotten to snogging yet, but they might as well with how obsessed with each other they are.”

“Nah...can’t see it." He shrugs, "Harry and Brad Pitt though...that’d be hot.”

Against his will, Zayn visualizes Waterboy snogging the American actor and, in his mind, he does confirm that that would be a very nice thing to observe. Vocally, however, “You’re mad.”

“Sorry?”

“Your mental health should be observed,” Zayn reiterates, but he can’t help but laugh at Louis’s twisted face.

He shrugs and stands up, dusting dirt off his body and Zayn notices that he is a very short bloke. “I think I am mad, but that’s another conversation for a very different day. Come, I need to borrow some trousers.” Zayn blushes but leads him to Liam’s house.

Louis chats on their way there and cracks jokes easily that make Zayn forget all about why he was upset.

Louis Tomlinson might be mad, but Zayn could care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can bombard me at jacktheminatureslayer.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks!


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